The camp had been placed upon a hill for protection. There were only four or five lodges, of canvas, besides the chief’s lodge. The American flag was flying from a pole. This American camp appeared poor――nothing. The soldiers, fifteen, wore shabby uniforms of sky blue; their coats were short and tight, their leggins thin, and several were mending their moccasins of heavy leather. They had only fifteen extra horses, to carry their baggage and the presents. There was a black dog. They talked and laughed much, as they busied themselves or waited around the two fires that they had built. The hair on their heads was of different colors――brown, and black, and red, and gray. So was the hair on their faces. They were quick, active warriors――good men, evidently. If the Pawnees fought them, it would be hot work before they all were wiped out. Maybe, thought Scar Head, they depended upon the medicine of their “doctor,” to help them. Another man, who could talk sign language and a little Pawnee, came and sat down beside him. He was the interpreter for Chief Pike. “You’re no Indian; you’re white,” he accused, of Scar Head. “Indian,” said Scar Head. “Where did you come from?” “Utahs.” “Where did they get you?” “Don’t know.” “Did White Wolf buy you from the Utahs?” “He is my father.” “You speak with crooked tongue,” the interpreter accused. “You are white. You are American. Who was your father?” “White Wolf is my father. I am Pawnee. I will talk no more,” said Scar Head. “Let me alone.” After that nobody bothered him, although they all eyed him. Why did they tell him that he was white? Did he wish to be white? Why should he be white, or American, when the Pawnee were a great people who could fight even the Padoucah――the Comanches or Ietans as they were called. And if one were white instead of red, it would be better to be Spanish, for the Spanish were rich and powerful, and their king owned the country. Yet――yet, Scar Head could not help but admit that these Americans bore themselves like warriors; this Pike must be a bold young chief, to come so far with so few men; and after all, perhaps the Americans might prove strong in medicine. The Osages and the two Pawnee-who-had-been-to-Wash’ton spoke well of the nation. The medicine-man approached him and suddenly laid fingers upon his white patch, and pressed. “Does that hurt?” Scar Head tried not to wince, for hurt it did. He squirmed free. “No.” The medicine-man might be putting an evil spell upon him, to change him to white; but the medicine-man only smiled, and left him. Having eaten of meat and corn, Scar Head slept in the chief’s lodge, with the chief himself and the medicine-man whose title was “doctor.” When he awakened in the morning he was safe and sound still. III THE PAWNEES ARE OF TWO MINDS “The Kansas are coming! They come in peace, but make ready for them.”